


Vanilla

by The_Honeyed_Moon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Moon/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why would <em>anyone</em> think vanilla was <em>boring</em>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanilla

Looking at John, many people assumed he was plain, ordinary. Vanilla even. It was a common mistake, what with his wooly jumpers, comfortable shoes, military-tidy hair and grooming habits. Vanilla seemed a pretty good bet.

Sherlock knew differently. John was _anything_ but plain vanilla. Sherlock knew what an exquisite and subtly nuanced flavour vanilla could be. Sherlock knew how John's variety of vanilla could awaken his desire and send it soaring. 

The vanilla of John's surgeon's fingers entwined in Sherlock's hair and pulling back his head to expose his throat so that John could more easily ravage it with his teeth and lips. 

Or the vanilla of John creeping up behind Sherlock to undo his flies and push down his trousers and pants. Bending Sherlock over the desk, spreading the cheeks of his arse and lapping and teasing at the puckered, secret entrance there.

Sometimes the vanilla was sharp-edged like whisky; John bound to a chair, naked and straining, prick buried inside Sherlock and being ridden hard enough to scrape the chair across the floor, leaving scratches in the floor boards.

Other times the vanilla was soft and sweet like buttercream frosting; Sherlock sprawled face-down on their bed with John resting his weight lightly over Sherlock, massaging the knots out of his shoulders and back before rolling him over to suck Sherlock off slowly, and with great care.

But, oh, the feeling of John sinking slowly down onto Sherlock's rose-flushed and slicked cock was one of Sherlock's favourite variances of the flavour. The quiver in John's legs, the stutter of his breath, and the deep, open-mouthed groan of pleasure all combined for a rich, heady vanilla that was the rarest of all. And it was the most cherished because it was Sherlock's alone to savour.

Vanilla, _indeed_.


End file.
